


Satellite of Love

by RowboatCop



Series: Striptease [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: :), Awkwardness that is hopefully still sexy, F/M, Stripping, Vaginal Fingering, bad sex that still doesn't suck, mentions of Coulson wanting to wear stockings, mentions of registration act
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6472894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy strips for Coulson. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satellite of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts).



The problem, she thinks, is that she made too big a deal out of it.

She likes to _shock_ him. She likes the cute little face he makes — all raised eyebrows to his hairline and open mouth and eyes so obviously pleased, _impressed_ even — when she does something he’s not expecting.

(She likes it as much out of the bedroom as in here, if she’s being honest, the way he looks at her — has always looked at her — like he can’t believe she’s real.)

But shocking people is also just the way she’s always operated sexually. She tugs off her shirt and shocks her partner with her nudity. She greets her partner half-naked with orders to strip. It’s what she’s good at.

So she was good at greeting him in the outfit — black pencil skirt and white top, red lingerie set, capped off with heels and and thigh high black stockings. She was good at pushing him down into the chair before he’d even had a chance to loosen his tie.

He’d been _shocked_.

But she’s not good at this, at standing in front of someone with an obvious costume on, with her shirt unbuttoned, with someone waiting — expecting — what comes next. It makes her too up in her head, too worried about disappointing.

(You never disappoint anyone if you pull your shirt off when they’re not expecting it. She learned that a long time ago.)

“Do you want to lie down?” Coulson asks her from the armless chair she’d forced him down on in the middle of the room, because she watched a youtube video on how to give a lap dance and obviously she figured she could do it. Because he’s been gone all day, observing the peace summits where leaders have been rolling back their regressive anti-Inhuman laws (steps forward, but not far enough forward to welcome Inhumans to the proceedings). Because it’s a time for celebrating.

So she thought she’d surprise him.

With a striptease. And a lap dance.

Because she’s an idiot.

“No,” she answers, trying to shore herself up.

“You don’t have to —”

She frowns at him, and he shuts up.

It makes it ten times worse — a hundred times worse — that he asks if she wants to stop. Of course he asks, though; he’s Coulson and he can obviously see that she’s uncomfortable.

But she tries to smile because she’s _practiced_ , and he did this for her, and she’s already started it, so she’s not going to _quit_.

“I really like it so far,” he offers, and her face must tell him that she thinks he’s just trying to change tactics, because he meets her eyes and rather obscenely runs his hand over his groin, like he’s proving a point, making it clear that he’s hard under his slacks, obviously tenting the grey fabric.

“Yeah?”

He nods adamantly, and it relaxes her for a moment, pulls her enough out of her head to slip off the white button down shirt she’s put on.

It leaves her in the black pencil skirt and heels, just the red bra on top, as she sways her hips to the music she’s turned on, the _Velvet Goldmine_ soundtrack because they have a lot of different tastes, but Lou Reed is something they can always agree on.

“Yes,” he hisses, and presses his hand down harder against his cock.

Bolstered by his obvious arousal, she arches her back and runs her hands up her chest and then through her hair, shaking out the short strands and watching as he makes his little open-mouthed face that means she’s still managed to do something he wasn’t expecting.

And then her music track changes, and the faster beat slips her up, changes the tempo at which she’s swaying her hips.

She freezes for a moment just as her fingers hit the little zipper running down the side of her skirt, and she frowns. She was meant to be in his lap at this point, not still sliding off the skirt, but she can’t even take her shirt off when he’s watching, apparently.

Coulson doesn’t even seem to notice her sudden hesitation, though, he’s so focused on her breasts.

“Are you wearing the matching thong?”

The questions snaps her attention to his face, to his wide eyes and obvious arousal, and it makes her smile.

“Maybe.”

She draws her hands up to the lace edges on her bra, part of a set they’d picked out together the first time they went away for a weekend. Coulson _loves_ this set, loves the red satin and lace and the cut that leaves the top of her breasts exposed so her nipples threaten to pop out if she bends over too far.

He watches the progress of her fingers as she plays along the edges of the bra cups, his tongue poking out to wet his lips when she dips inside to touch her nipples.

Daisy grins as he squirms in his chair, his eagerness giving her the confidence to sway her hips and run her hands to the zipper on her skirt. She’s slow with it, lowering the zipper carefully and then catching the skirt so she can dip it down past her hip just enough to show the red lace band of the matching thong.

“Daisy,” he breathes her name, and she laughs as she holds up the skirt and sways her hips for a moment before turning around. Once her back is to him, she lowers the skirt slowly down her ass.

Even though she’s not watching, she can _hear_ him exhale hard, almost a moan, as her mostly bare ass comes into view. Once it’s down below her butt, she releases her grip on the skirt and lets it fall down to her ankles, so she can kick it aside.

“You’re wearing…” Coulson swallows, seemingly unable to complete his thought.

“Do you like them?”

She turns slightly, showing off the thigh-high nylons, and bending down enough to run her hands down her upper thighs to touch the elastic bands that hold them up.

“Yeah,” he responds, his little open-mouthed face so eager and pleased. “God, Daisy.” And she can’t help but smile because she can still shock him.

In time with the music, Daisy walks towards him, swaying her hips provocatively until she can straddle his legs and drop down on his thighs, almost back towards his knees.

He exhales, licking his lips again, and reaches forward to grasp her hips. She catches his hands, though, and places them back at his sides.

“No touching,” she warns him, and he groans as she releases his wrists in order to run her hands up his chest to his neck, a light touch, meant to be almost ticklish.

Coulson shivers at the sensation, and then moans loudly as she reaches his ears and tugs gently at his earlobes.

Once he’s thrown his head back, eyes closed in pleasure — once he’s not watching her movements — Daisy walks herself a little awkwardly forward up his thighs until she’s pressed to his groin, and she can circle her hips over him.

“Shit,” Coulson grunts, and it’s _pain_ , not pleasure, accompanied by a grimace.

She almost jumps backwards, away from his erection.

"Coulson?"

“I just —”

He squirms for a minute underneath her, adjusting himself in his slacks, and then sighs.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” he smiles at her, and Daisy pauses, trying to feel the beat of the music, to recapture the moment. Coulson is the one that fixes it by reaching forward to drag her back up his thighs until she’s pressed against him again.

He grunts at the pressure — a good noise this time — and Daisy moans in return when she manages to grind down just right.

“I said no touching,” she reminds him lightly, capturing his hands by the wrists and leaning fully against his chest so she can force his hands behind his back. He hisses as she presses her breasts against him and closes his left hand around his right wrist.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, “ _really_ okay.”

Daisy laughs and circles her hips over him, starting a slow grind against his cock that makes him grunt, pushing his hips up against her. While she moves, Daisy runs her hands up his chest so she can grip his tie and tug his mouth against hers.

He kisses her like he’s desperate, chasing after her lips even after she pulls back, and Daisy smiles at him as she reaches behind her back to unhook the bra, letting it go slack but catching it with her left arm across her breasts so that even once she tugs it away, she’s covered.

Coulson licks his lips and watches, seemingly enraptured, as she carefully slides her hands over her breasts, cupping the bare flesh carefully to avoid giving him a real peek — a move she’s practiced in the mirror more than a few times.

His jaw goes slack as he watches her, eyes locked on her fingers, and his hips become more insistent under hers, like he’s seeking what connection he’s allowed.

“You’re so —” He swallows, like he doesn’t even have the word, and whatever he might have said dissolves into an incoherent groan as she stops making a show of covering her breasts and starts just playing with her nipples. They’re hard and sensitive under her fingers, and she shivers at just the light touches.

Daisy raises herself slightly from his lap and stands just enough to rub her breasts against his face, gripping the back of his head to hold him in place as he opens his mouth, leaving sucking kisses against her skin.

When he manages to catch her nipple between his lips, the sensation zings down her spine, makes her whole lower body clench so hard she loses her balance and falls back into his lap.

Coulson grunts at the pressure, and she loses any sense of rhythm — of tease — as she grinds herself against his cock desperately, their lips meeting in a messy kiss. With her hands perched on his shoulders, she can feel the way he’s straining, but holding his hands carefully behind his back, being so good.

“I had more stuff I was gonna do,” she whispers into his mouth, running her hands down his chest to open his slacks.

“Oh?” His voice is high pitched as she curls her hand around his cock, fishing it out of his pants.

“But would you mind if I —”

She rubs the head of his cock against the satin crotch of her panties, the slick fabric pressing against her so they both groan.

Her arousal almost stabs through her, the kind of squeezing almost-painful pressure that makes her stupidly desperate to have him inside her.

“Please,” he whispers, almost begging, and she pulls aside her panties to sink down over him. He feels _big_ , almost too big against how tight she is, and she barely takes him inside — just shallow little movements over him as she adjusts, gritting her teeth against the side of his head.

Coulson, though, drifts into a series of moans, clearly struggling to keep himself still, to let her do all the work.

“Daisy,” he whispers her name when he’s barely half inside of her, when she’s still perched awkwardly, “Daisy, you —”

He releases his arms to try to pull her off of him, his hand on her hips lifting away instead of pressing her closer, and she can see him straining to keep from coming.

She can see it when he fails, when he’s not even inside her anymore, this sad little whimper like he didn’t even get to _enjoy_ it.

“Fuck,” he grunts, and drops his head to rest near her shoulder.

His sudden stillness is worrying; this isn’t really something they’ve dealt with before, and she finds herself floundering, not sure what the right response is.

“Coulson, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and she shakes her head in response. 

"No, I..." She licks her lips, not really sure what to say, but he solves that problem for her by running his hands up her bare back into her hair and pulling her mouth down against his, kissing her deeply for a moment before he pulls back and runs his hands down to grip her hips.

Before she has a chance to say anything, he lifts her off of him and guides her backwards to the bed, almost knocking her over on her back, so she's splayed out on top of the covers.

“What are you doing?” She’s half laughing, and Coulson responds by raising an eyebrow at her.

“I’d think that’s obvious.”

Daisy squirms slightly as she watches him pull off his clothes gracelessly — suit jacket and tie discarded on the floor, something he _never_ does, stained slacks kicked aside — and then crawl up the bed between her legs.

“I like these shoes,” he tells her conversationally as he picks up her feet, stretching her legs up into the air so he can remove the heels and then run his hands down her nylon-covered legs. “And the stockings.”

“You should try them on sometime,” she suggests, playing it like a joke even though the thought of Coulson’s legs in stockings re-lights her arousal.

“Don’t think I won’t,” he answers seriously as he drags his cheek along her leg. “I won’t look as good as you, though.”

Daisy laughs as he crouches down until his face hits the bare skin at her inner thigh, his breath warm right at the core of her, so she's shivering in anticipation.

“I think you could pull it off,” she breathes, and he grins up at her as he rolls down the right stocking, looking utterly fascinated with it — the material, her skin underneath. He runs his hand up her bare leg before beginning on the other, working it carefully off until he’s just touching her skin, leaving her legs covered with gooseflesh.

Once her legs are bare, he slides his mouth up her thigh to press his lips to the crotch of her panties before he peels them down her legs, too, and then collapses beside her, his hand pressed between her legs, his lips working a soft line up her shoulder to her ear.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she answers, a quiet breath before he slides a finger easily inside of her. She’s relaxed apparently, no longer so tight she can barely handle being penetrated, and Coulson is quick to add a second finger as he keeps kissing her, soft little presses of his lips as he moves up towards her neck.

The stretch is _good_ , perfect, and she moves desperately against his hand as warmth builds at the base of her spine, dripping through her body.

Her throat closes up as she gets closer, blocking off the tiny grunts working up from her lungs as she comes apart around his fingers, against his hand. Coulson works her through it, only lets his fingers slip out of her when she’s fully spent, panting on the bed.

As she catches her breath, Coulson kisses her cheek and then her jaw.   

“It went well,” he tells her, voice quiet at her ear. “I think next time the president will have a keynote by Daisy Johnson, Agent of SHIELD.”

“Thanks to you,” she answers back, wrapping her arms around him where he rests half against her, still trailing lazy kisses against her shoulder.

“No. Thanks to you. You’ve saved the lives of everyone at that symposium. It was a travesty you and your team weren’t there.”

He’s been her fiercest advocate, her best friend in this hell, and it makes it easier — it makes it better — having him with her like this, having him with her, feeling her anger with her, feeling her triumph with her.

“We can celebrate my keynote by getting you in those stockings,” Daisy suggests, which gets her a chuckle and another soft kiss on her shoulder.

"It's a date."


End file.
